


only love

by faithsedge



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Stargazing, Valentine’s Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithsedge/pseuds/faithsedge
Summary: a gift for @amlovelies on tumblr!!(det. emma langford is not mine)
Relationships: Female Detective/Natalie "Nat" Sewell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	only love

**Author's Note:**

> a gift for @amlovelies on tumblr!!  
> (det. emma langford is not mine)

there is a hilltop, on the very edge of town, hanging right over the beach, looking out over the sand and the wash of waves on the shore, and on this hilltop there is a tree and it is known, by all of the town, as the kissing tree. (—a silly tradition, one that all the teenagers in town took advantage of—driving cars up to the top, watching the stars, laying gently on the hood.)

and there is a chill in the air, one that seeps into her bones, infiltrates her skin and leaves a deep red flush on her cheeks. but the wind is not blowing, the kissing tree does not sway, and so the cold, as much as it cuts, does not cut much entirely (and it could be much, much worse).

still, she’s freezing—and thus shivering. 

a welcome pain she supposes, and nevertheless she’s got a smile on her face. cupid’s bow stretched, dainty pink lips, ever so glittering from the gloss she put on earlier in the evening. her arms are crossed against her chest, to keep some insulation. splayed on the ground, red hair all in a mess beside nat. 

“which one is that one?” she asks. 

“ _that_ my dear, emma is orion’s belt,” nat says, enthusiastic, practically beaming, and emma thinks, perhaps, brighter than all the stars she has seen tonight. “or the belt of orion. a way to tell that this constellation is orion.”

nat reaches down, fingertips tracing along the length of emma’s arm, before dipping her hand into emma’s own, their fingers interlock softly. nat pulls emma’s hand up, and points with her to the sky, guiding her every step of the way. 

“do you see?” she asks, head turned, dark brown eyes swimming with nothing but love. tangible in the air, you could feel. you could _hold_ it. “how the stars, they form patterns.”

_they form patterns._

and lifting her head onto her elbow, nat catches a glimpse of the stars, reflected in emma’s eyes, reflecting like the dots of freckles all over her face.

she does see; emma does see. she sees the breath she breathes out, dissipating in the air, but visible for a moment. she sees the vast expanse of the inky midnight sky. she sees nat, and her faint smile, expression natural (naturally pleasing, naturally happy, naturally… _everything_ )—and then she sees the stars.

and she sees them last, because… somehow the stars and all their extravagance, are the _least_ stunning thing on the hilltop. the very least. 

in the dark, dull winter night, lit up only by the moon’s glow (which she dons—she wears it’s light like an accessory) nat captures her. in every way possible, so in the dark, dull winter night, emma responds, “yes, i _do_ see.”

“perhaps, when the flowers bloom, we could stargaze more often?” nat beams, and emma thinks, _another ‘nat-ism.’_ when nat speaks, she speaks in poems. spring isn’t spring, it’s when _the flowers bloom._ and perhaps that is more beautiful—a prettier way of looking at the world.

emma chuckles, and scrunches up her shoulders. the wind is picking up now, and her red curls blow softly in the wind. “when the flowers bloom, we can do so much more,” she suggests.

“and what do you have in mind, my dear?” nat stretches her arm out, curling around emma’s middle, pulling her closer, and nestling her hand in emma’s back pocket. she rests her head on emma’s own. a welcome warmth to the harsh cold. 

“when the flowers bloom—we can pick and arrange them, have picnics, walk the town with abandon,” emma almost sings when she speaks, a gentle hum in her words, a melody reserved for nat, and nat only, and one that only nat has ever picked up on. 

it brings a gentleness, in the way emma speaks, in the way that nat responds, their conversation dances. a tangible love, that if you heard them speak you could see, the aura of affection, of passion between them. in their eyes, and in their words (unique to the want they have for each other, unique to their patterns, their stars, their _love)_ and how they hold each other.

it was almost young. puppy love reserved for giggly school children. like the ones who know this hilltop better than most. 

“i would like that very much.” 

and then silence settles, the waves still, the night continues to fall, and the cold, despite harsh and stinging her skin, bothers her little (and neither nat, even with her hypersenses—the cold is a distance, a background noise compared to the homely hold of emma’s arms). 

but then nat speaks, letting the silence take hold for few moments, before being overcome. “i love you very much, emma—“

her brows furrow for a moment, letting the words fall on her tongue just right, for emma, the words come harder (yet easier), and only for her. when they leave her lips, they feel right. “—i count myself as one of the lucky ones, to know your love as you give it.”

she swallows. “i would say i do not deserve it, but you make me feel like i do. you give me courage.”

her arm retreats from around emma’s body, fingers reaching for hers, hands wrapping around hands. eyes bearing into soul. 

“it is only love i feel, to feel you.”


End file.
